The Long Weekend Continuation of The Phone Call
by Milo Pressman
Summary: Jack has returned from the Salazars and decides he needs to see Kate, who knows more about what he's been up to than Jack suspects. Bob Warner isn't happy about the situation. The origin of tJack's tatto is revealed.


Thursday Afternoon  
  
"Here're the keys. You drive"  
  
Jack climbed into the front passenger seat for once, loosened his tie and leaned back on the headrest. He had an awful headache and he was even angrier than he'd been three hours earlier, which was saying something. Chase eased the SUV out onto the freeway, eating up his own frustration as he changed lanes incessantly and wove in and out of the traffic at 20 mph over the speed limit.  
  
"How you managed to live with that sick b@stard for more than six months I'll never know" he said finally.  
"Don't forget the three months before that working for Javier. He was one too."  
"Yeah, well, now you've got Chapelle..."  
"Guess I'm '0 for 3'. Not lucky like you. You've got a great guy for a boss."  
Chase grinned. The humor helped relieve the tension in the car considerably. Even he had to slow down the closer they got to office; the traffic was noticeably heavier.  
"Listen, I'll drop you off and then I've got to go out and run an errand. I'll be back in an hour or two" Jack said.  
"If you're thinking of disappearing for the afternoon" Chase said "check your schedule. Unless I'm mistaken you've got a 1:30 staff meeting with Chapelle, Tony and a cast of thousands, and a 2:30 with that guy from Division".  
Jack pulled his Palm Pilot from the pocket of his jacket. "D@mm#t, you're right."  
After a moment Chase continued "Why don't we take care of it now? We've got the time before we have to be back there. Is it on the way?"  
"No, to both questions."  
Chase looked at him quickly, then shifted his eyes back to the road. "I could be the flunky who waits with the car."  
"I said no." And then realizing he sounded harsher than he meant to, Jack added, "I just have to do this myself. One day you'll be glad you can say you have no idea where I went or what I was doing".  
"Except nobody will believe that anyway."  
"You'll still be better off."  
  
Upstairs in his office Jack counted out four aspirin and gulped them down as he scrolled through his e-mail messages, half-listened to his voicemail and started thinking hard about how they could alter their strategy with Ramon, or if it was even worth the trouble to try something different. Maybe it was a mistake for him to be involved at all in the interrogation. Ramon hated him so intensely that all their energy was still going into fending off his snide remarks, pointed jabs at Jack, ominous threats and declarations of outraged betrayal. Jack kept trying to lead him back to names, dates and places, clarification of cryptic messages they'd intercepted, unexplained meetings, phone conversations conducted in euphemistic codes, but it wasn't getting anywhere. They'd made it clear a hundred times already. Show us what you've got, then we'll talk about a deal. Ramon could sit in prison for the rest of his natural life plus thirty years, for all they cared. But of course Ramon knew they did care. He knew the drug charges were just leverage to get what Jack was really after. As long as he held onto the terrorist info – and tantalized them with glimpses of the enormity of what he could tell them if he chose to – he was in the driver's seat.  
  
Besides, Jack knew underneath it all that he couldn't give it up yet. He had given much more of his life than could be measured by time alone to this operation. He'd been so close, so tantalizingly close, to getting past the pure narcotics piece of the Salazars' organization and into the money flows and the big weapons deals. That was where the drug dealers met up with the terrorists. The terrorists controlled opium production, the root of the heroin which the dealers produced and then distributed to a network of lower level dealers, who themselves controlled distribution to the ever- growing population of users. The big dealers, the cartels like the Salazars, employed a small army of men to protect their heroin and cocaine warehouses and deliveries and processing plants from each other as well as from the DEA and the local authorities. So they had great contacts with the arms merchants. The major dealers had a side business, serving as the middlemen who brought the terrorists and their opium profits together with the people who had SAMs, rocket-propelled grenades, ammunition, automatic weapons, whatever, for sale at bargain basement prices.  
That was the side of the business that Jack was the ideal candidate to penetrate. He would fit perfectly as the Salazars' dealmaker, the man who brought the terrorists into the same room with the arms dealers in exchange for a percentage of the sale from both sides. He knew weaponry, he now knew the drug trade ("intimately" knew it, as he reminded himself), and he would quickly have a better handle on the business of both sides of the transaction – the terrorists and the arms dealers – than they had themselves. To be in the room when those deals were cut would have even given him a window into the details of where the money was, and how to get hold of it, and which financial institutions were dirty. At a minimum he would have been able to find out who was buying what and, most probably, how they intended to use it. He'd been so close. And now he was trying to salvage some crumbs.  
He glanced at the clock. Seven hours. Only seven hours and he was starting to think about it already. Not a good sign. Nor would he have the time today to firm up a new source of supply. Tomorrow was shot too because he was leaving early. Well, maybe over the weekend. They were open for business and eager to take your money after normal working hours. They'd take it during any hour of the day or the night, minor holidays, Christmas and the Fourth of July too, for that matter. He just didn't want to check the place out for the first time in the dark, at night, so it'd have to be sometime Saturday or Sunday during the day. And if he didn't get around to it this weekend, if something else came up...  
Well, the chances of that were slim, no matter how Kate had sounded on the phone the other day, or how well things had gone on Monday. He rubbed his forehead. It was just for a late lunch on Friday, after she finished teaching. Beyond that, who the h*ll knew. He didn't have any idea whether they were headed somewhere together or even where he wanted things to go. But he no longer had any illusions about his side of it. He was past kidding himself that he was just 'checking up' on an old friend. He wanted to see her and he needed to see her. A selfish impulse on his part totally driven by what would be good for him and not connected at all to what was good for or best for her. He knew what he'd done. He knew what he now was. The burden of living with that was properly his, not hers. Wasn't that why he'd broken up with her in the first place, before he left, so that none of what he would be doing would wash back on her? Then why bring it back to her now?  
Except, when he was with Kate, everything that was wrong, everything he was worried about, all the regrets, receded into the background, at least temporarily. Jack remembered vividly, despite the drugged-up haze he'd immersed himself in later, how he'd felt on Monday when her car pulled away, even if that feeling had evaporated fifteen minutes later. It was the first time in a long time he'd felt he could handle things and take care of what he needed to do: Claudia, Ramon, his job, the rest of his life, all of it. That, with some work, he could get on top of things. He wanted to feel like that again. Somehow he could believe that, if Kate said it, it was true. If she still saw him that way. Maybe if he heard her say it to him often enough he could actually begin to believe it himself. She was so honest; he knew she wouldn't lie to him, or tell him something just because he was dying to hear it. Kate wouldn't bother saying something if she didn't believe it was true.  
Why she wanted to bother with him was the big mystery. And maybe the biggest surprise on Monday was that there was still something between them. Something more substantial than the absence of hate, something a whole lot better than indifference, something with some life left in it. Twice now she'd said yes, she wanted to see him too, and her voice on the phone had sounded pleased, almost happy, on Tuesday when she realized he was the one on the other end of the line.  
And when he'd kissed her. She didn't react like a woman who was just being polite or who was just going through the motions. He knew Kate and he knew when he'd reached her, and she had not just accepted that kiss, she had returned it; come back to him with a kiss of her own that made him feel wanted and welcome. I miss you too was in her kiss. They'd had a whole conversation in the space of twenty seconds or less. Well, maybe not so much a conversation as a monologue because he'd done about ninety percent of the talking. He didn't have the word or the string of words that described half of what he'd told her with that kiss.  
He fumbled around in his mind in a doomed attempt to identify it exactly. He'd told her he was way beyond sorry for messing up their lives; sorry he wasn't good enough for her or the right man for her. Some old themes there. And then, with hesitation, he'd admitted to her he was in serious trouble and he didn't know how he would sort things out or get his bearings again. There were things...things he needed to tell her about and he was scared to tell her about those same thing because she'd think even less of him than she already did if she knew. But maybe she'd also understood how much he missed her, and about five percent of how much he wanted her. And the last part of his statement had been something like "Putting that part about me being the wrong guy for you aside for a moment, Kate, would you please let me spend every free minute I've got with you?" That wasn't everything he'd told her, but it was pretty close. What was in her ten percent of that conversation? Something like "I'm listening; tell me more". And that she remembered how he could make her feel. And that no one – no one – had ever made her feel like that but him. Certainly not some candy-a$$ed stockbroker in a bowler hat who carried an umbrella.  
  
He made his way up to the roof, up to where the helicopters landed, where there was fresh air and he could breathe, just to get away from that circus downstairs. The light up there reminded him of Mexico which, when you thought about it, wasn't strange because Mexico wasn't that far away. One good thing about Mexico: he'd been outdoors all the time. He'd work with the ranch hands whenever he had some free time and, puzzled as they were about why someone like him would like to do work that resulted in callused hands, they'd taught him a lot, particularly about the horses. In Mexico how much of a man you were was measured very simply, and it didn't center on how much money you made. Well, not so completely, anyway. If you said you were going to do something, did you do it? Could other men count on you to do your job, or were you a coward? Could you hold your liquor, which was of course just another way of asking, could you control yourself? Did the girls smile when they saw you coming, and were they still smiling and rolling their eyes and laughing when you left? Not much discussion of right and wrong, that's for sure. Of course, the people he was hanging out with had already made some fundamental decisions along those lines that didn't bear revisiting.  
In the end he'd had sixty or so men in his unit, about equal to two companies. One group based in Columbia, the other in Mexico. A higher proportion of nut cases than you'd tolerate in a regular force but still, not that much different from his old Special Ops unit. Three or four men that merited especially close watching or they'd get out of control. He'd trained Helio and Eduardo in what to do about those guys. Well, the next tier down, the men he thought of as sergeants, two or three of them knew instinctively how to handle dangerous men, men who couldn't stop when their blood was up or if there was a human bug begging to be crushed. And, then again, any man could get out of control, given the right circumstances. He'd seemed to know that since his first firefight when he was in the Army.  
  
There were guys you kept around because they'd fight through anything or die in the attempt, and there were plenty of times when that was exactly what was wanted. Sometimes they were the same men you needed when you had to make somebody talk. Sometimes they were the guys who actually enjoyed making people talk. At this point he was a realist. Men like that could serve a useful purpose, you just had to control them and to control them you had to make them wonder if you weren't drilled a little off center yourself. And they had to know without a shadow of a doubt that you understood exactly why they liked the work and that you were fully capable of doing it yourself if you chose to. Once or twice early on Jack had demonstrated his considerable skills in getting people to talk who weren't inclined to talk. He didn't hesitate. He didn't flinch. And he didn't get sick afterwards, either. Then everybody knew who they were dealing with, and things went a lot smoother. Ramon had watched both times when he showed them what he could do. Then he'd given Jack that little look of approval. He had passed one of Ramon's little tests.  
He remembered how happy they'd been when he'd gotten all sixty of them Kevlar flak jackets. Demonstrable proof that somebody cared if they lived or died. Hector was puzzled at the expense of it. Why bother, when there was an endless stream of men from the slums of the cities who were eager to make some money? But Ramon, he'd understood and approved it, but not without looking right through Jack first, with those sharp, eagle eyes of his. He'd peered into Jack, looking for the softness he wouldn't tolerate in anyone who worked for him closely. Was there something soft in Jack, like it bothered him to loose his own men on occasion; was there a hint of some sentimentality?  
Jack had shown him there wasn't, there was nothing there but hardened practicality. Why waste all the time you'd have to spend showing new ones which end of the gun to hold, he'd said. He was just trying to get a decent return on their investment: the time spent getting them trained. Because these guys worked directly for Jack and he wasn't having a bunch of liquored-up cowboys trying to execute the things he had in mind. And what was he there for, anyway, if not to pull off jobs that required a little more sophistication than what a bunch of gang-trained 18 year-olds brought to the table?  
Ramon had looked at him for a long moment and then said, ok, buy the vests. And then he'd added, while you're at it, get them some SWAT-style helmets too. And then it was on to the next thing, going down the agenda like clockwork. Ramon was a superb manager. No wasted words at his meetings. No 'why are we here' questions about what 'the mission' was. Every man in the room knew exactly why he was there and didn't need to be reminded of it. Everything was very simple.  
Like seeing Claudia. When he'd meet her, there wasn't any question about what either of them was there for. They didn't have the time to play games. Sometimes, afterwards, they'd have some time to talk. And when they did talk...Once he'd asked her if she thought he was different than Hector or Ramon, because he was starting to have a little difficulty with that question himself.  
She said they were there to be in control, for money and for power, to build them selves up, to make others do what it was they wanted. Jack was there, she'd said, to simply get through the rest of his life. He was good at the work and the Salazars hadn't peaked yet and he was with them for the ride up because nothing else more interesting offered itself. To Jack, she said, it was all a big, interesting, challenging game and he liked figuring out how to beat it. He liked the money – she couldn't conceive of the money not being a motivating factor - but not the way Hector and Ramon liked it. Jack didn't believe in anything, though he might have, once. But despite the face he showed to the Salazars she knew that sometimes it bothered him, what his work demanded. She'd seen him afterwards, when he'd come to see her, so anxious to be with a woman that they'd be in bed thirty seconds after he walked in the door.  
Not a bad analysis, given what she knew. And at the time he was glad to know he was coming across to everyone the way he'd intended to.  
He turned his head and saw Tony emerge from the doorway and walk towards him. He came over and stood next to Jack and looked out over the city, not saying anything.  
"How come they always send you after me when I've been bad"?  
"Because Chapelle's worried that if he came up himself you'd just tip him over the edge of the roof and be done with it."  
"Now there's a thought."  
They were quiet, just looking out at the buildings and the traffic and the organized confusion of LA. Tony finally broke the silence, with the question Jack knew was coming, the question that Tony had politely refrained from asking him for three weeks now.  
"Are you ok, Jack?"  
He straightened. If it'd gotten to the point that Tony was asking it was time to pay some serious attention to his behavior.  
"Sure, I'm fine. Sorry, Tony, I shouldn't have blown up down there. I just can't tolerate the bull$shit anymore".  
Tony looked at him pointedly. "Jack, you keep doing this stuff, you're just going to have more bull$hit to deal with. They'll make you go to anger management school, or a stress relief workshop, or some other kind of nonsense. You don't want these guys messing around in your brain. I wouldn't want them in mine either. But you're going to have to stop giving them reasons think messing around in your brain might be kind of interesting".  
"I'll work on it. Thanks for the heads-up".  
They returned to their silent, in depth study of the rooftops of Los Angeles.  
"Did you hear any more about who they're sending?" Jack finally asked.  
"No, just that there'll be three to five guys".  
Jack started thinking out loud.  
"If I'm Hector, I'm weighing the operational ease of using somebody who's local against the emotional satisfaction of using one of their own guys. Hector's probably considering using somebody who worked for me. Poetic justice. Hector has a streak of the poet in him. He'd think you were calling him queer if he ever heard you say it, but its true. I know who I'd pick if I were in his shoes. Vincente or Helio. Maybe Luis Alceveida". Eduardo would have been the best, of course. But Eduardo was dead.  
"Of course, if you send someone I'd recognize you increase the chances you'll loose the element of surprise. So maybe he sends one or two guys and picks up the rest here. That might work".  
Tony thought how strange it would be to someone in a different line of work to overhear this conversation. They were standing there in the middle of a beautiful August afternoon discussing, with serious, professional detachment, the probable composition of the hit squad that was coming to kill Jack.  
"So, where are you living these days?' A related topic. Any pattern Jack established, anything predictable about his movements, created a risk that the hit team could exploit if they detected it. Where he filled up his car with gas, where he bought beer, the route he took to work, all had to be as random and as varied as possible.  
Jack shrugged. "Not where I was. I checked out of there this morning. Three weeks is long enough. I'll find someplace different tonight. As long as they have cable, it doesn't mush matter where, until this goes down".  
Tony smiled. "Michelle said if we ever got rid of the cable I'd have to go through withdrawal". Jack just smiled in response.  
"Brace yourself" Tony added after a pause. "She's going to ask you over for dinner next week".  
Jack looked up sharply. Tony continued, not missing a beat. "Don't worry, I'll do most of the cooking. Steaks on the grill, I promise". He smiled a little at Jack. "No tacos or enchiladas, either".  
"You have no idea what a relief that is to me". Another pause. And then Tony eased into a delicate subject as gently as he could, going back to an earlier point in the conversation. "Jack, re-entry's not easy. You were down there a long time. Maybe its not all nonsense". "Tony, how many times have I gone undercover?" Jack responded, wearily. "How many assignments have I been on? Even I've lost count. It's the same old same old. Each time's different and each time's the same. It's a little rough at first, a little strange coming back to the real world, or what passes for it. But after awhile you get back to where you were before you left". "Well, maybe you need to take some time off. You haven't had a real break from work, not even weekends, in more than a year". Jack had lived his undercover role morning, noon and night...'24/7', as the saying went...with no relief, no easing of the pressure to be someone he wasn't, his guard constantly up, on alert all the time. The longest Tony had ever done it was four months, and the experience left him drained and exhausted. Jack shrugged. "I can't think about doing that until things are squared away with Ramon. Maybe afterwards". He wasn't going to discuss what else Tony was trying to tell him. But, surprisingly, he found himself bringing up another subject, one that had been on his mind a lot. One he'd intended to keep quiet about. But suddenly it seemed like the right thing to mention. "I saw Kate on Monday" he said quietly, looking at his hands. Tony kept studying the rooftops. "How'd it go?" "Better than expected, actually". He decided to take the plunge. "Look, could you cover for me tomorrow afternoon? I know you've had to fill in a lot, with me gone so much. There's just something I need to do. The fact is" (he couldn't believe how he'd gotten himself in this conversational box) "I know its not much notice but I was wondering, if you guys didn't have plans already, if you could take this weekend for me. I'll make sure my side is covered, of course, Steve will be the senior agent on call, but I don't want to be on the board with Division. I mean, I might end up coming in anyway, but..."He just kept digging a deeper hole. Tony finally rescued him. "That's fine with me. We'll just switch and you can be up next weekend. I'll let Ryan know about it tomorrow, after you've left. That ways it's a done deal before he knows about it". "Thanks". "We'd better go back down". Jack grimaced. "Ryan's probably waiting around for his apology. He wouldn't miss seeing me grovel for the world". "I meant more that the country's probably gone to the dogs in the fifteen minutes we've been up here".  
  
On the way home that night Tony and Michelle had an interesting discussion about marital communication and the need for one spouse to check with the other before plans were changed. "Michelle, what could I say? Do you know how many times Jack's actually asked me to do him a favor? Exactly none, if you discount how he asked me to keep an eye on Kim while he was gone, which I'd do anyway, even if he hadn't asked. Would he ever hesitate to do me a favor, if I ever asked him to, I mean?" "What's so all fired important about this weekend? Especially since we were planning on going to San Diego to see your sister". "I don't know what he's got going on and you know Jack, you just don't ask". "I'd ask". "Well, I wouldn't, and I didn't, so it's done". Then, realizing this didn't sound exactly friendly, he offered an olive branch of sorts. "When we get home I'll call Theresa and see if there's another weekend they're free before their kids go back to school". Michelle looked out her window. "He's still not himself, Tony. There's something that's not right about him". Tony thought that the best course of action was to keep his own opinions on the matter to himself, so he just kept driving.  
  
And, the next day he also had an interesting conversation with Ryan Chapelle.  
"Ryan, listen, I don't think that's necessary. You want to get another three to five years out of him? Leave him alone. He's got things he needs to do. He knows what he needs to do and he's taking care of it. So just back off".  
There was a pause.  
"What I so hard to understand here? We got through an entire year without him. We can get through another weekend. Are you worried he doesn't have enough accumulated leave to take off three to four hours on a Friday afternoon in August? Is that the problem?"  
And then there was another pause.  
'I'm sure he'll leave his cell phone on. And yes, I'll come in personally if I have to. You want that in writing? Fine, it's on its way. Bye".  
Tony hung up. He'd never know Jack to leak so much about his personal business. Of course the afternoon of and the weekend and his shy revelation about Kate were all linked together. It was a sign of how seriously strung out he was. And maybe it tied in with the other things they'd talked about in that cryptic shorthand the two of them used with each other. He thought about what Jack was like before Teri died. And for the five thousandth time he wondered if the rest of them, himself included, had done enough to stop that from happening. And then he sighed, and opened his e-mail, and got back to work.  
  
Friday Afternoon  
  
Compared to finding a place to park, finding the building where her class was held wasn't difficult. It stood across a plaza from the university bookstore. One entered through a shady courtyard where a few students were lounging on the grass or sitting on a low brick wall. It wasn't crowded the way he remembered the campus: this was the end of the summer session. In a few days the majority of the students would return with their mountains of "stuff" and their energy and their bikes and their roller blades and the place would come alive with an avalanche of 18-to-22 year old humanity. But now it was quiet and you could hear the lawn mowers of the grounds crews going full tilt in the distance.  
  
It was a moderate sized lecture hall, with room for 150 students seated at long tables that climbed up in tiers from the lower level, where whomever was lecturing stood in front of a large whiteboard. Jack entered at the upper level and descended down one of the two sets of steps that were on either side of the seating area. The room was more crowded than he expected; there must have been 60 people in the middle section, but spread out among the rows. Kate stood down below, leaning on the lectern. He was early so he quietly slipped into a seat near the top of the room.  
  
The acoustics were good; no trouble hearing what she was saying. Her hair was pulled back and clipped behind. She had on khaki slacks and a black t-shirt made of something smooth and shiny (silk?) that showed off her tan, topped by a lightweight, black sweater with buttons (cardigan?). She looked relaxed but professional; her briefcase leaned against the lectern. He remembered buying it for her birthday one year, getting her initials embossed on it in gold.  
  
The proportion of slackers in the audience was relatively low. Sitting behind them he could see two who were doodling and one who was pretending to take notes but was actually instant messaging on her laptop. The word "Kosovo" suddenly focused his attention on what Kate was saying. She was talking about the difference between "collective" and "unilateral" intervention for humanitarian reasons; the difference between when a multinational organization, such as NATO, intervened in an internal war, and when one country did so. In either situation, how could it be determined if the conflict threatened international peace and security? What if the war involved massive human rights violations or war crimes: crimes against humanity? She asked if anyone could compare the situation in the Balkans to that in Rawanda and six or seven hands were immediately raised.  
  
She called on one girl who gave a rambling answer that was so full of generalizations and "like, you know" phrases that Jack winced. But instead of pointing out the inanities in the girl's response Kate smiled and summarized what she'd been trying to say in three sentences that actually had a beginning, a middle and an end, and, when put together, formed a complete paragraph, a complete thought. The student's delight at hearing what she thought she'd said come back at her out of the teacher's mouth was evident. The others bought it too, because when the next question came up there were at least ten eager hands in the air. She called on another girl and, once she'd said her piece, Kate carried that thought over to a boy who was sitting on the far right side near the windows and asked him if he thought it met the requirements or some principle of something or other that they had covered in the readings for this session. He pointed out that it met three of five criteria but not the two most important ones...  
  
And they were off. Kate wasn't so much lecturing as she was moderating a general discussion in which at lest three quarters of the class were actively, eagerly engaged. Even Surfer Boy and Valley Girl down on the left who, moments before, were playing footsie with each other under the table were paying attention now.  
  
They weren't just ranging all over the map, either. Every time people seemed to be getting off on a tangent Kate brought them back to the real issue. When the discussion seemed to have reached its natural end she drew a diagram on the whiteboard. The principles she had been going over with them for the last two class sessions were clearly linked to specific examples; exceptions that didn't fit into that framework were listed off to the side under a large question mark. She told the class that at the next session they were going to discuss another way of understanding the issues they'd discussed today, based on an alternative theory their next readings would cover (check the syllabus on her web site for the specific pages they were to read). Oh, and since they had a few minutes left, she wanted to clarify what was going to be on the final exam next week, particularly on the topics they'd covered earlier: international economic law, human rights, international aspects of criminal law, and dispute resolution.  
  
The part about 'criminal law' caught Jack's attention. He wondered idly how many international criminal laws he'd broken, as opposed to the standard, garden variety ones he'd violated at one time or another over the years. The class was breaking up. The students were putting their things away, hauling backpacks up on their shoulders and attaching CD headphones to their ears, clearing out. One or two stopped to talk with Kate but then she was done and he walked down the stairs to meet her.  
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked ruefully, but still smiling at him.  
"Listen, I'm not going to run out and buy the textbook. But you were great. You really got them into it, Kate."  
She sighed, "That's half the battle. They're all government majors, and it's a required course, so you'd think they'd take to it naturally. But it's a Friday afternoon at the tail end of summer and it's a beautiful day outside and the subject is so abstract. I'm just glad you got to see them and me on one of our good days." But he could tell she was more pleased than that.  
  
They set out for her office so she could change into something more casual. She'd already picked up lunch for them: sandwiches, fruit, wine. Jack got his car and parked it in the adjoining lot. He opened up the glove compartment: the med kit was there, tucked into a plastic bag and buried under a pile of old road maps and car insurance certificates. He moved it to the case that held his laptop. Just in case.  
  
She came out of the building and for a second he felt like he'd been hit in the midsection. She looked so beautiful. The khaki slacks had morphed into khaki shorts, and not all that short, either, but it was the whole combination that got to him. Instead of the black top & sweater she now had on a sky blue t-shirt that made her eyes stand out, with a sweatshirt of the same shade of blue tied around her waist, and sandals. That was all. He finally took a breath, a deep one. They were just going to have lunch together, that was all. Some place quiet, some place where they could talk. He wasn't going to think about anything beyond that. He was silently relieved when she didn't have a problem with taking his car. In addition to the med kit, he had some other things locked in the gun case that was itself locked in the trunk  
  
She'd said the choice on where to go was his, since he was the one who'd been away, so he picked the ocean. He'd seen about all he ever wanted to see of desert and cactus. Driving along with some Ellington and John Coltrane on the CD player, they talked off and on, a little nervous with each other again, kind of inching around to where they'd left off the other night. It had a first date feel to it again. After a while Jack asked if she still had that cat that hated him.  
"He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't like to share."  
"Kate, that cat hates me. I'd walk through the living room and he'd leap out from behind the sofa or something like he wanted to tear me apart. Didn't you ever notice the scars he left on my leg"?  
"Complaining about a little scratch or two, a grown man like you".  
"Little scratch, my foot. I should have gone for stitches"  
Kate smiled at him. She loved his sense of humor. She knew what he was doing: reminding both of them of one of the hundreds of little things that had happened when they were together.. It was his way of feeling her out. Are we still connected someway? Do you remember, too? It was good sometimes, wasn't it?  
  
She watched him for a moment, just seeing him quietly. She'd been thinking about him for four days, remembering his voice and how long his eyelashes were and how purposefully he moved when he was working and how he could look rugged, yet polished and smooth, all at the same time. She tried to balance that picture out by also trying to remember all the times he'd been distant and preoccupied, short-tempered, sarcastic, abrupt, and rigid. Times when he'd put up a thick, strong barrier between them. But, even when he was driving her crazy, and coldly ignoring all her attempts to reach him, she knew where it all came from. It came with the rest of the Jack Bauer package. It was the flip side, the consequence, of how he operated: the way he would take responsibility on his own shoulders, and put aside his own nature, and make himself do what was required, and what was hard, and what was even cruel. The silent, brooding withdrawals were just the evidence of what that transformation cost him, and how it wore away at him.  
  
He looked a little better today, not as tired as he was the other night. Maybe he had gotten some sleep in the last few nights. Maybe that was helping. She couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses.  
  
Kate looked out her window. She'd decided right away that he mustn't know what she'd found out that night. How involved he was in the Salazars' operations, her certainty that Jack had taken his military skills and training and put himself in the hands of violent, ruthless men, and then had done what they wanted him to do. Nothing she'd learned since Monday caused her to question her original conclusions. She'd used the Warner Corp.'s translation service to get English versions of articles in the Spanish press about Salazar. If anything those accounts were more numerous and more graphic. And the man sitting next to her had thought up some of those things, and then he'd picked up a gun, and he'd made them happen. And now he was trying to live with the consequences, and having a hard time of it. Particularly since his real purpose...finding out something he needed to know from Ramon Salazar, in particular...had been totally frustrated.  
  
And still she was trying to figure out, what was her role in all this? What was she supposed to do? How do you help someone when you can't let on that you know what the problem is? How do you help a man who can't talk to you because he's afraid of seeing disgust and fear in your eyes if he told you what was bottled up inside of him, if he told you what he had done? A man who knew he needed you but who didn't dare ask, a man who was wondering if there was anything good left in him that he could offer you, a man who was trying to connect with you because he thought that was the only way he could find himself again. And if they weren't still in love with each other, how had she understood all this so quickly, and with such certainty, just by seeing him?  
"Kate, you're thinking deep thoughts over there."  
She turned to him and smiled. "I'm just thinking how glad I am you called me again, that you didn't take a week to get around to it".  
He looked at her quickly in surprise. "Really"? It kind of leapt out before he could think about it, and he blushed, but continued after a moment. "I had to make myself wait, actually. I almost called you at 9:00 the next morning".  
"Really"?  
"Yes," he responded, rather enjoying the verbal game they were playing, "Really, but there had to be a decent interval between seeing you and calling you, for the sake of my ego. So I waited all the way until 10:30".  
"And I was wondering what took you so long to call".  
"Really"?  
"Yes, really".  
The sleeves to his moss green t-shirt were pushed up to his elbows and he was leaning his left arm on the car door by the window. She saw what looked like a huge, blue bruise on the inside of his arm and she asked him, without thinking, "What's that on your arm"?  
For a split second he hesitated and then said, "It's a tattoo. Our Lady of Guadalupe".  
"You've gone back to the Church?" she asked, dumbfounded.  
He smiled, one of the most sincere smiles he'd had in a long time.  
"I probably need to, but no. Somebody dared me. And then they put money on it. And I think I'd had a few too many. So now my arm and Our Lady are together forever. And don't ask me what I'd do if somebody dared me to jump off of a bridge, Kate. I know it was stupid. But there it is and there's not much to be done about it now".  
  
Like all good lies, this one had an element of truth in it. He was drunk. That was about all the truth this particular story contained. But he could tell she liked neither the tattoo nor the story about how it came to be on his arm. Well, she'd like the real story even less if she ever heard it. But now he carried a little too much of the truck stop about with him. The preps she'd grown up with and the brothers of her friends and the preppy world she lived in didn't think much of tattoos or the people who wore them. Dickie boy the stockbroker would never show up on her doorstep with something as low-class as a tattoo on his arm.  
"Don't get all defensive, Jack. I was just asking".  
God, she could read him sometimes, even when he kept his mouth shut. The good mood in the car was gone and now he had to search for something to talk about that would get them back on track.  
"Tell me about the course you're going to teach in the fall".  
She gave him a look that said very clearly "I know what you're trying to do here, Bauer". But apparently she wanted to get the good mood back too so she started to tell him how she'd been asked to teach a seminar for graduate students and seniors on International Organizations.  
For a split second he thought she meant organizations like al- Qaeda or the Jemaah Islamiyah or even the IRA but then he realized she was talking about the World Health Organization or UNESCO or even Doctors Without Borders. After some quick consideration he decided to tell her what type of "international organization" came immediately to his mind, and she laughed so hard that the tears were just flowing out of her eyes. And then he started laughing too because it seemed at times that they lived in these parallel universes, like characters in an old Star Trek episode, where everything looked the same in the two places but each was the reverse of the other. And then they were both laughing and it was ok between them again. Then it was good just to be together, just driving along and being together.  
  
It was a rocky, wild beach full of giant black boulders that the waves crashed against when the tide was in; tidal pools surrounded them when it was out. The sand by the water's edge was always firm, good for walking or even running. They'd gone there before, six or seven times at least, when they were together and even more if you counted the times before he moved in and the times after he moved out.  
  
They walked about a half-mile down the beach from the point where they'd parked and descended the steep wooden steps. It was Friday but the beach was neither good for swimming nor surfing so, except for a few people who were walking their dogs or just walking they had the place pretty much to themselves. Great collections of seagulls and terns and plovers and sandpipers and birds neither of them could name, and the air was full of the rich ocean smell. By the water's edge it was misty from the damp spray. Despite the day's warmth, it was chilly there. But the heat returned just a short way inland, across the beach and towards the dunes that rose up like steep mountains.  
  
They climbed up one of these a short way until they found a slight pocket, protected in back by a higher wall of sand. It formed a kind of shelf. Sitting there the whole ocean lay at your feet but only about a city block away. Here the heat the sand had absorbed all day rose up through one of Jack's old Army blankets that they spread on the ground. Jack wondered how she still had it; how that blanket had followed him somehow from various posts to the places he'd shared with Teri to the bare apartments he'd lived in afterwards, to Kate's house. Actually, those apartments had been glorified storage rooms for cardboard boxes, equipped with sterile, cold kitchens and bathrooms with ancient, moldy shower curtains. But at Kate's the blanket had finally found a home it liked and it had apparently decided to stay on after him.  
  
Jack opened the wine, silently pleased she'd remembered he liked red, not white. Kate pulled out the sandwiches and the grapes and used a small plastic knife to cut him a slice of cheese and then one for herself. They were both hungry – it was almost 2:30 – so at first they simply ate, sitting next to each other on the blanket and watching the waves and the birds and feeling the much diminished breeze on their faces. With some relief Kate noticed he finished his sub and almost half the grapes before pouring himself a second glass of wine. He was still so thin.  
"Would you like a brownie"? she asked.  
"Later, thanks" he replied, still looking out at the ocean. "You know, there are times when I think I should have joined the Navy."  
"And what would you have done in the Navy"?  
"Probably become a SEAL, so I would have ended up in the same place anyway, just slightly damper. But I thought" he paused "I thought for awhile that I might like to be a pilot. I think it would be fun to learn how to handle a fighter."  
"Now there's something I never considered doing. And, thinking about it now, trying to find the deck of an aircraft carrier out in the middle of the ocean on a pitch-black night, well, it wouldn't strike me as being a fun thing to do. But that's how it seems to you, isn't it"? She smiled at him.  
"Well, maybe not fun, exactly, but I would have liked to have tried to do it, just to see if I could do it."  
"Oh, you could have done it, Jack. The hard part, if you tried to do it now, would be convincing yourself that you were 25 again, and that nothing bad, like rolling off the edge of the deck, could ever happen to you."  
He looked at her for a moment. "What if you try something, and you try it, and you keep trying, and you put everything you have into it...I mean everything, Kate...but it still doesn't work. What do you do then"?  
"I suppose you find a different thing to try."  
He thought this over for a minute or two.  
"Lately" he continued, "I've felt like I'm trying to hold back the ocean. You think to yourself, if I clean up this mess over here, if I take care of this problem, if I stop this particular bunch of bad guys over here, we can finally come up for air, we can stop and get our bearings, we can finally take a breather."  
"But now it seems that for every one of them we find and we stop there are three or four more who are ready to replace them" he continued, just resigned to it all. "Its all building and building out there somewhere, like a whole series of tidal waves, and they're all headed our way. No matter what I do or what everybody else does I know for a fact that one of them will get through. And when that happens it will be like nothing that's ever happened before. It will be a complete, total disaster. It'll come washing up this beach and roll over that city behind us and smash everything in its path.  
"Everything we've built and created, all that work, how many generations of hard work, will be gone. All the pictures in all the museums, just gone. All the music. All the libraries. All the learning, everything that's creative and good. Everything that really matters, just smashed. And the people will be dead. Can you imagine millions of people dead? And there's nothing I can do about it. Not a d@mn thing."  
"Another nightmare?" she asked him quietly.  
"One of the daytime variety".  
"Its so beautiful here. But it only reminds you of how worried you are, how hopeless it feels"? Because she knew that he felt this impossible task was his job, his responsibility, and that he was failing at it.  
"Oh, its probably just me, just a mood" he said, brushing the sand off his leg. "It's just gotten so hard to feel confidant about how all this is going to end up. I find myself thinking, more and more, 'What if they win?' or, even worse, 'What am I going to do when they win?'  
  
They sat quietly for a moment, looking out at the ocean.  
"It was very hard this time, wasn't it" she asked him.  
"Kate, it was..." he stopped, at a total loss for words, looking away from her, out at the ocean. She quietly took his hand. Surprisingly, he didn't just squeeze it and pull away, but held it tightly.  
"It was like something from hell. And I brought it back with me."  
Kate leaned over to kiss his forehead but somehow ended up kissing his lips. It suddenly seemed very quiet and still. Like even the ocean was still. A series of small, sweet kisses, tentative kisses. They gradually lengthened and deepened, growing more intense as they began to rediscover each other. Jack released her hand in favor of holding her waist, and then he used his arms to pull her tighter and closer to him.  
Kate held back for one last moment. And then she simply let go of the final barrier she'd used against him: the bitter, self-protective core of skepticism that made her leery and wary of how strongly she was attracted to him. She finally just relaxed, and let him hold and touch her, and let herself enjoy being held and touched. And then the emotions she'd diligently kept at bay, the ones she'd tried to control since the night she'd had dinner with him, were simply too strong, and they flooded through her again, as they had in her study. What she felt now was an intense longing for him mixed with grateful relief that he was back with her. She could see him and please him and allow herself to love him. This complex man, who loved to make her laugh, who excited her just by holding her hand, or just by turning his head in a certain way. The man who kept seeking her out, who always seemed to need to find her. And he wanted her just because she was herself. What she wanted most of all right now was the feel of his skin against hers, for his hands to be moving all over her, exploring her, and for him to be saying 'Kate, Kate, Kate' over and over again in her ear, just the way he was doing these things now. And he knew it was exactly what she wanted, and she hadn't even told him.  
  
She opened her eyes and they were lying next to and facing each other. Jack was leaning on his elbow, gently moving his hand over the curve of her shoulder and lightly down her arm and down her side, over her waist and her hip, just slowly tracing the curves of her body like he had never seen her or touched her before. His eyes searched her face.  
"You don't want to be doing this with me."  
"Ever since we met you've been warning me to stay away from you. Maybe what we should pay attention to is that I'm still here, and that I can't stay away from you."  
"Its different now. I look the same but I'm somebody you don't know."  
  
He was quiet for a moment, as if he were thinking about saying something. She reached over to touch his cheek and he turned to kiss the palm of her hand. What could she say to him that wouldn't sound as if she was ignoring the impact of what had happened to him, that wouldn't sound patronizing and superficial?  
He undid the clip that was holding her hair back and combed his fingers through, spreading it out against her shoulders. "Except this stranger you happen to be making out with loves you, Kate," he said, finally admitting it to himself and to her at the same time. "And he never stopped loving you. I only stopped thinking about you when I had to, when thinking about you just made things worse."  
He sat up, looking at the waves, his voice distant and strangely soft. "I'm just lost without you Kate. I'm just so lost. And I'm wrong for you. I am so wrong in everything, and I have no idea, no idea at all, about how I'm going to make things right again."  
She sat up next to him and started rubbing his shoulders. They were so tight, hard and tense. "Listen to me now" she said quietly, close to his ear.  
"I want to tell you what's important and I want you to hear what I say. I want you to hear me and really listen to me and turn off that voice that you've got going on and on in your head about what a failure you are. Just turn it off, Jack, and stop thinking for just a moment about all the things you've done that are wrong.  
"You are the best man I've ever known, or ever hope to know. You are a good, kind, and gentle man. You make me feel as if I was this special prize, this extraordinary person. Do you know how you make other people feel when you smile at them? Do you have any idea how you make them feel stronger and safer, just because you're with them? But you have to let go of all this guilt; of all this anger you have at yourself. It's crushing you, it's beating you down and it's crushing you."  
"A man takes responsibility for his actions, Kate. I don't know how to let myself off the hook and still be a man."  
She turned so he could see her face, so anxious that he understand, really understand, how much he mattered to her. She spoke deliberately and with great seriousness, trying to get to the heart of the matter and to bring him there with her.  
"One day you'll find the words to tell me what you need to tell me. What I know you want to tell me. And that will make me sad, but not because I'll be disappointed in you. I'll be sad because I never wanted you to have to do things that you can barely stand to talk to me about, or that hurt you so much that you have to turn away from me because you're ashamed.  
"You have to remember that you don't have to be perfect for me, Jack. You don't have to always be the winner for me, you can make mistakes, and I'll still love you. You won't believe this but there isn't anything, not anything, that you could do that would make me stop loving you. If there were, it would have happened when you left me. You broke my heart when you left. I didn't know how I was going to pick myself up off the floor the day you moved out, but I still, always, loved you. It doesn't make any sense but there it is. I love you."  
"Kate, I don't know what..." But she was kissing him again, and suddenly he didn't have the will to argue with her or pull himself away from her again because she was doing what he knew he needed. And how do you argue, anyway, with someone who has just said that she accepts and loves all of you, all the bitter failure and all the stupid, stupid mistakes and all the violent, bloody things you know you've done and which she probably suspects you've done. And you know she actually means it.  
They were at the point where talking was irrelevant. So many times when they were alone together talking ended up being irrelevant. Now he moved easily from the world that existed in his mind, the only place she had lived for him for so long...the place where he had tried to remember what it felt like to make love to her...to the reality of enjoying her. What a strange mixture reality was of "all over again" and "never before". He didn't have to try to remember it or imagine it anymore. He was making it happen now; he was making her want him again. That was how they ultimately knew and understood each other, anyway. Somewhere along the way, while he was showing her how he could make her feel, the new version of himself, the weak and confused version that he hated so intensely, had stepped aside, or gone for a walk somewhere. The authentic version, the one he recognized, was here. He was the one with Kate. There was only one other thing he had to be certain of, while he still had the chance to think about anything.  
"Kate, are you sure? You must be very sure."  
She smiled at how strange he was. What she was sure of was that she was in a fog of wanting him and of wanting to satisfy him and, also, of wanting to make him fall so deeply back in love with her that he would be all right again. "Yes, this is what I want too." she said.  
He reached for his belt and started undoing the buckle. But, looking down on her, Jack realized suddenly that as much as he knew he was with Kate he'd also forgotten an important part of what being with her meant. He'd lost sight of something fundamental, something he needed to stop and pay attention to. Because this was not some girl from a bar he'd hooked up with ten minutes ago, just to get what he needed. She wasn't some woman he'd brought back to a hotel room in Calle, or Monterey or Bogotá, or any of the other places he'd been, just to avoid being alone again for another night. He wasn't where he thought he was at all, and he was with someone who was entirely different. This was Kate. And Kate deserved something a lot better from him than what he was offering her now: a quick f*ck on an old blanket in a not entirely secluded part of a California beach. As if they were both sixteen years old. He lay down beside her and pulled her to him, and he heard himself talking to her.  
"Listen to me, then, listen to me, just for a moment." His eyes were searching her face again. "I just want us to do this right, Kate. I don't want this to happen here, like this. I want to go someplace, someplace that will be like us, like something you and I would do. I know a place, its not far. Let's go there right now. I don't want to waste any more time, Kate. And I don't want to mess it all up again."  
Kate rested her head in the crevice where his neck met his shoulders. Where she could feel as well as hear his heartbeat. So earnest, so serious. Where did all this self-control come from, enough to stop not just himself but both of them from completing what they were doing and enjoying on that blanket? It was beyond her. But she knew as soon as he said it that he was right. His instincts...no, his judgment, was absolutely right.  
"Yes" she said after a pause "Yes, I think that would be even better."  
So they just held each other for a little while. And then they put back on and tucked back in what, ten minutes before, had come off. They finished buttoning and zipping up what had become unbuttoned and unzipped. They decided to finish the last of the wine before they left, so Kate sat between his legs, leaning back against him, and they were just quiet with each other, thinking their own thoughts, Jack kissing the top of her head and feeling her hair on his cheek and closing his eyes and just breathing her in. And, a little later, he stood up and reached down to help her stand. Taking his offered hand Kate decided that, right now, she would just follow his lead, and let him take both of them to the next place they needed to be. Because he was Jack, and he knew what he was doing. And she trusted him.  
  
Early Saturday Morning  
  
Jack woke up and glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand on Kate's side of the bed. It was almost one thirty in the morning. They were scrunched up in the classic "spoons in the silverware drawer" position. She was tucked up against him, his left arm lying across her, her head on the pillow that covered his right arm. If he moved he'd have to be careful or he'd wake her. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember why or what had made him wake up. Then the tightness in his stomach and the prickliness on the back of his neck and the way he just wanted to get up and move around and how dry his throat was told him why. Thirteen and a half, almost fourteen hours. He was overdue.  
But it had been so good, just holding her afterwards and letting the pleasure fade slowly away and then drifting off to sleep, such a short time ago. He didn't want that to be over yet. He decided to try and wait it out a little longer. Everything he needed he'd brought in from the car when he brought in his ever-present laptop. He didn't have to go find anything and she was sound asleep. He decided to count to 600. That was ten minutes. He'd try to wait another ten minutes, then he'd move. Unless he started feeling feverish or clammy because if that happened it might wake her up. Ten minutes wasn't such a long time.  
He lay there slowly counting to 600 in his mind, closing his eyes and then judging by the digital display if he was going too fast or too slow. After the first ten minutes he decided to try for twenty, then thirty. If he made it to thirty it'd be fourteen hours, which was better than he'd done in a long time. His stomach was cramping at the end of thirty minutes but he decided to ignore it and go for another count of 600. Just like doing push ups in PT. Break it down into manageable pieces. The trick was to keep counting but to think about something else at the same time.  
He happened to look at his left hand. He hadn't realized it but he was tightly clutching the light blanket and the sheet he'd pulled up around her earlier. Flexing and tightening in time with the count. Four hundred seventy-seven. Four hundred seventy eight. He'd concentrate on watching his hand in the soft moonlight; clench and unclench.  
What he wanted to think about was what they'd been doing since five- thirty that evening, with breaks for room service and a dual shower, but that wasn't such a good idea after all because it triggered a physiological reaction and he was having enough trouble controlling one physiological reaction right now, he didn't need to try to deal with two at the same time. So he tried to go back to watching his hand, and then to thinking about something else altogether, but it wasn't working anymore. The incessant messages his body was sending him were getting too strong to block out. When the first wave of nausea swept over him he knew it was over. He felt the saliva flood into the back of his throat and he knew his time was up. He had to move.  
He slid his arm out from under her head as gently as he could, rolled towards his side of the bed, stood up and grabbed the laptop on his way to the bathroom. Not a moment too soon either because a few seconds later he was bent over the toilet, throwing up, his stomach heaving and his guts angry with him for waiting to do what he knew he'd need to do sooner or later anyway. Luckily he'd had the time to turn on the faucet first. That might drown out the sound he was making in case she woke up.  
He splashed some cold water on his face, closed the toilet cover, sat down and got to work. Five minutes later his little ritual was over and he was sitting there feeling the rush radiate out in rolling, warm waves down his spine and out to his legs and his arms. The prickliness was gone and the cramps were diminishing. His head felt properly woozy (amazing what an extra cc or two could do) and he opened his eyes.  
What a sight. What an appalling sight. Here he was hiding in the john with his "works" spread out on the bathroom sink, complete with a spoon and a butane lighter and a quarter bag of white powder and all the rest of it, wondering whether he should risk throwing the needle in the trash or if the safest course of action would be to just pack it all up again and cart it "home" and throw it away there. And he'd had to plan for this possibility since Friday morning, since before heading out to work, and carefully make sure he had all the things he'd need ('Don't forget the spoon, Jack') in case he got lucky, and Kate decided she wanted to sleep with him again. Of course, he'd also checked his wallet and made the quick obligatory trip to the drugstore as well. But that was different. That was something to protect her; spontaneity had its limits, especially when he considered what he'd been doing over the last year and who he'd been doing it with. This mess that confronted his eyes was just sordid. Lucky Kate. Sleeping so peaceful and unsuspecting in the bed where she'd let him do everything he'd wanted and dreamed of doing with her for so long. Lucky Kate with the heroin-addicted lover shooting up in the bathroom while she slept.  
He packed up and turned out the bathroom light before he opened the door and walked across the room and over to the door to the balcony. The moon still hadn't set and the water was lit up in shades of black and grey and blue. He opened the balcony door slightly, letting just enough air in to bring the smell of the ocean with it. It reminded him, suddenly, of just how much Teri had liked this hotel, this view. If he remembered correctly the room they usually had was two or three doors down the hall, on the right. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to detect any sense of her here. But there was nothing. Just the smell of the ocean. She was as gone from here as she was gone from everywhere else.  
He walked over to the bed. Kate had turned over and was facing in the opposite direction. He looked down on her for a few moments, thinking how was he ever going to tell her about how badly he wanted that needle and the peace it brought him, before she found out on her own or took a good, close look at the inside of his left arm. Was he going to have to start shooting up between his toes? How many lies was he going to tell her, what was a reasonable limit, and when would the lies be so extensive and convoluted and numerous that they undercut every one of the few, fragile things they had going for them, so that she stopped trusting a word he said. He carefully climbed in beside her and in her sleep she shifted to make room for him.  
Today's big lie was the story of the tattoo. She'd really surprised him when she asked about it in the car. He'd forgotten its shock value, he'd gotten so used to it himself. Fortunately he'd already come up with a pretty good story about the tattoo for Kim's sake, so when Kate asked about it he was able to roll right into it. If either of them knew how he'd "earned" it. He closed his eyes. He was high, of course, but his brain somehow persisted in going full tilt down memory lane.  
"Earned" it, that's what they'd said. Pleased as punch with him. Ramon beaming, Hector with a big grin stretched across his face, eagerly telling him how they'd transferred his $50,000 fee into the Bahamian bank account as soon as they heard the good news. He'd personally set the reform and anti-corruption movement back by a good five to ten years. Kill the brave men and it didn't take too long for the vast majority of ordinary men to get the message. Smoking the Cuban cigar they gave him like he was proud of his work, or a proud "Papa" with a new baby. He'd really tied one on that night. Tequila flowing like so much water 'til he'd passed out. He'd stayed drunk for two days, finally woke up with his head in three or four pieces and looked down and there it was, visible and indisputable evidence of just who owned his ass. They thought it was hilarious that he couldn't even remember having it done. And he'd had to pretend that he thought it was great, Ramon and Hector were great; everything was just great.  
He'd made the Salazars so much money that day. They syndicated the cost of the hit, plus a hefty profit. Major drug dealers and other cartels, a rival politician or two – anybody who had a stake in continuing the current level of endemic corruption, and cash money in hand, was invited to contribute. They had forked over thousands and thousands of dollars – maybe close to half a million? maybe more? – in order to benefit later from the good will and the transportation networks and the "look the other way" arrangements of the Salazars.  
In return (in addition to the wonderful tattoo, of course), for the next month or so he got to dream that there was so much blood flowing down the street that the bodies and the pieces of bodies were floating, punctuated by the smell of cordite and of burning oil and of gasoline. And there was also the sudden quiet, that little quiet interval there always was before people recovered their senses and the screaming and the yelling started. Even a load of smack in his arm didn't keep that little memory at bay. Not until it got replaced by something else, and then the next thing, and then the next, until he'd figured out the proper combination of alcohol and heroin so he didn't have dreams at all anymore. But to this day, filling up the car with gas, that gasoline smell, could bring it all back. Not every time but out of the blue he would suddenly be back down there, picking off that last bodyguard through his sniper scope and giving them all the clenched fist, "pull back" signal, which meant it was all over, all the "targets" were dead.  
He wanted it to stop, just stop. What the heck is this stuff for, he thought, if it didn't work in the dead of night when you really needed it? He shifted her head onto his chest and carefully wrapped his arms around her, just holding onto her because he didn't know what else to do. She said he'd find the words. He couldn't imagine how he would ever do that. How could he ever face her and tell her?  
"You ok?" she asked sleepily.  
"I'm fine," he said softly, adding another lie to the stack, as he gently pushed her head back down on his chest and stroked her arm. "Go back to sleep. Everything's fine". She nestled down against him and soon he could feel her breathing steadily and deeply again. Fourteen hours wasn't bad. Fourteen hours was measurable progress. And, after awhile, he was asleep again, too.  
  
Saturday and Sunday  
  
"You are aware of the fact that we don't have any clothes to wear other than the ones we had on when we walked in here last night?"  
"Do you want some melon? Its very good" Kate asked sweetly.  
"Yes, please, but Kate, listen, we could drive over to UCLA and you could get your car and go home and pick up some things and I could do the same thing and we could meet back here. We could be back in..."  
"Four or five hours, with the Saturday traffic. But I don't want to waste that much time running around. So here's what I think we should do". She speared three pieces of his blueberry pancakes with one skilled thrust. There weren't too many pieces left so she'd decided to get a taste while she still could.  
"We'll go into Santa Monica and walk down one street and get you some slacks and a shirt or two and a sports coat and a pair of swimming trunks, because you did say you wanted to use the pool, and whatever unmentionables and shaving apparatus you need. And then we'll cross the street and do basically the same thing for me. Except instead of a sports coat I want a black or a red dress I can wear to dinner tonight. And then we'll stop somewhere for lunch and come back here and see if we can come up with something to do. Then you can swim your 100 or 200 or however many hundreds of laps you feel compelled to swim while I sit in the whirlpool and the sauna and then we'll have drinks on that beautiful veranda downstairs and then we'll go someplace else for dinner and then we'll..."  
"Go to the pier"?  
"Deal".  
"You mean we're going shopping".  
"Oh, come on, it won't be that bad. I'm sure you can find a bookstore somewhere to hang out in if it gets to be too much for you". There were no more pancakes left. His appetite was definitely improving.  
"You just want to dress me up and try and make me presentable".  
"Well, there's that, too. But really, Jack, when was the last time you bought yourself some clothes?"  
"Ok, I guess we'll do it your way".  
She gave him one of her best smiles as a reward for his good behavior and he mentally threw in the towel. "I'll get through it somehow", he added.  
"Are we going to figure out tomorrow, too?" she asked, finishing her second cup of coffee.  
"No. And we're not going to figure out Monday or Tuesday or any other day of next week, or of next month, or that's going to occur in the foreseeable future, either. We'll figure out tomorrow when we get there."  
"Just checking".  
She stood up and climbed into his lap and, putting her arms around him, rested her head on his shoulder.  
"You were right, you know, to bring us here. This was the right thing to do. How you had the presence of mind to figure that out when we were both half naked I'll never know, but you were right".  
After a pause he said quietly "I love you, Kate. Once I got that clear in my mind the rest had to follow".  
"How do you feel"? she asked, instead of posing other questions that were on her mind.  
"Like a million bucks" he answered, smiling at her.  
"You slept a long time".  
"Well, that helped, too". He kissed her. "How do you feel?"  
"Like a woman in love".  
"Kate..." his hand had moved into her robe.  
"Jack, if we get started up again, we won't leave this room all weekend".  
"So"?  
She stood up, easing the separation with a kiss on his forehead. "Save it for later. You won't regret it, I promise."  
He sighed as she went into the bathroom to shower. Once the water was going he found the remote and turned on Sports Center, just in time to get the scores from last night's games.  
  
He survived the shopping trip, and even distinguished himself by, first, waiting for her while she tried on eight dresses and, second, by refraining from commenting on the interesting fact that the one she ended up buying was the first one she had tried on. While she was buying lingerie he had a brainstorm and ducked out to a liquor store to buy cognac for later (the two being associated somehow in his mind). He remembered to get socks and underwear, as well as swimming trunks while she was looking at some slacks. And he stopped by the jewelry counter while she was trying on swimsuits. There was a pair of earrings...well, they didn't drape down or anything they were right up against her earlobes...that had light blue, sparkling sapphires that he liked so they wrapped them for him and he slipped them in his pocket.  
Lunch was a huge piece of grilled salmon that he practically inhaled and salad and two ice cold Molson's. Kate had a Caesar salad with grilled chicken that she couldn't finish so he ate that too. They had dark, strong coffee and shared a serving of poached pears and he held her hand as they walked back to the car and loaded up the entire back seat with shopping bags and packages, including the one from the bookstore. He kissed her once everything was squared away, leaning her back against the car, ignoring for a reckless moment how dangerous a parking garage was and just taking advantage of the fact that it seemed they were alone and it was darker and more private than the public street and he could let her feel what kissing her did to him and confirm what he already knew, that she wanted to go back to bed with him as much as he wanted to be there with her. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt so relaxed and free. It had been a long, long time.  
Driving back he decided he had to tell her how much of a difference she made for him. It was a way of easing into another issue he wanted to talk to her about, a relatively small thing that was still difficult to admit to. But it wasn't so bad that it would spoil everything. He had to start somewhere.  
They parked in the hotel parking lot and Kate undid her seatbelt and started to get out of the car but Jack stopped her.  
"Kate, wait a second, there's something I want to tell you".  
She sat back in her seat, looking at him curiously.  
"Do you know what I did last Saturday?" he began, looking not at her but out the front window of the car. "I ran for ten miles. I picked up my laundry from the dry cleaners. I went to the shooting range for an hour or so"  
"And then I went home, and I sat on the couch for the rest of the afternoon and I watched a couple of ballgames and I polished off a six-pack and about half a bottle of Scotch. When I woke up, because I either passed out or I went to sleep, I don't know which, I got a pint of Rocky Road and two more six-packs from the Seven-Eleven. That was dinner. And the next day I basically did the same thing, except for the laundry and the shooting range parts of it." He paused for a moment before continuing.  
"I'm telling you this because I want you to know I really enjoyed what we did today. I had a good time. If I wasn't with you I probably would have spent the day pretty much the way I spent last Saturday. I don't seem to be interested in too much these days. So I would have just sat there in front of the tube."  
She leaned over and kissed his cheek.  
"I had a good time too. I promise I won't make you go shopping more than twice a month, unless you want to, of course, which is extremely unlikely." She waited a moment, and then continued. "But what's this drinking all about?"  
"It fills up the time," he said with a sigh. "And it helps me to stop thinking. And it helps me sleep. And now I'm just used to it. Its amazing, how quickly you can get used to basically getting plastered every night."  
"Do you want to do something about it?"  
"Well yes, I think I have to. Its gone on long enough, for more than six months, I'd say, so its time to get it back under control. But now I think I can, you see, so I just wanted you to know I'm working on it. You don't have to baby-sit me about it, or worry about it, but I wanted to tell you. I know it's a problem. And I'm working on it. That's all."  
"All right. But if you find out that doesn't seem to be helping, will you tell me that too? Because it's important. And you don't want it to go on too long."  
"I'll tell you. I promise."  
Kate gave him a smile. "Thanks for telling me this. It keeps me from worrying about it myself."  
"You noticed?"  
"On Monday? Yes, I did. When we had dinner, you had about six beers in less than an hour."  
Jack let that sink in for a moment. Was there anything else she'd noticed and hadn't asked him about?  
"Listen, I'm not taking the pledge, I'm not giving it up altogether. I just need to get it under control."  
"Well, that's a relief".  
He turned to look at her, puzzled.  
Kate explained it to him. "Because I could have sworn I saw a bottle of cognac back there somewhere."  
"I think I can handle that without going on a bender."  
"Good. Then let's get upstairs. Because you mentioned doing something after we got the car unloaded, and I want to see if you're a man of your word."  
  
When they went to the pool later Kate swam her thirty laps and then went into the whirlpool while Jack continued, swimming back and forth, regular as clockwork, switching strokes ever six laps. The monotony of it, which drove Kate crazy, didn't bother him at all, which was fortunate because if he didn't exercise every day or he got restless and the exercise kept him in shape and staying in shape was an occupational necessity. She preferred yoga, and she went to a Pilates class twice a week.  
  
She sank back in the warmth, enjoying the feeling of relaxation that the jets of water created. She wondered, not for the first time, how long it had been since he had come to this hotel, and why they had never come here together before last night, and who had been with him. Was it before they were together, or afterwards, or during? Somehow she didn't feel comfortable asking him about it directly. Did it matter, really? And of course he was just beginning to trust her with anything he felt vulnerable about; just beginning to tell her what was really on his mind. That had to proceed at its own pace.  
  
Which was why she was so glad he'd talked to her about the drinking, that he'd brought it up on his own. He took any deviation in his behavior from this ideal he held in his head, from the high standards that he held himself to, to be a sign of personal weakness, an embarrassing chink in his armor. But he'd talked to her about it anyway. He'd tried what she had told him he could do: tell her the difficult and the hard things. So maybe he had listened to her yesterday.  
  
It would be at least a small help if he were interested in something besides the major league baseball standings and the status of the war on terrorism. At least he'd picked up some books today; before he'd always been a voracious reader, when he had the time for it. Now he was spending his free time just sitting around that apartment or room he lived in and chugging away. That had to change, but was it the symptom or the cause?  
  
It was all very well and good that they'd decided they weren't going to talk about the future, not even the immediate future that was less than a day away. But stopping oneself from thinking about it was entirely different. And things had gotten very complicated. Because there was still Richard to consider. And, longer term, there was the next cycle with Jack to look forward to.  
  
Kate didn't want to sink into a crass, point-by-point comparison of them. There was something extremely distasteful about doing that less than an hour after leaving the bed she shared with Jack. At least both Jack and Richard knew the other man existed. She had two problems, really. The first was telling Richard, a man she liked and respected immensely, whom she'd been seeing off and on for almost five months now, that she and Jack were ...well, back together. Dealing with the aftermath of that conversation was going to be the second problem. She could hear herself saying very simply that Jack had come back to Los Angeles, and they had met, and she had decided that was where her heart lay. She was sorry if that disappointed or hurt him, but she couldn't lie to herself or to Richard about the situation.  
  
But the possibility that Jack would one day re-enter her life was so remote at the point she'd started dating Richard that they had only talked about him a few times. This news would totally surprise him. While he didn't know the details of her relationship with Jack, Richard knew the essentials: she had lived with him for almost two years, that he'd moved out more than a year ago and that she hadn't heard from him in at least a year. He also knew enough to understand why Jack's absence wasn't entirely voluntary, and was aware that he worked in the shadowy world where the military touched the intelligence agencies and then touched the law enforcement agencies...that he was a widower with a grown daughter...that she had met Jack on the day the bomb went off near LA. She'd even told him how Jack had flown the plane that contained the bomb from LA into the desert, and how he had survived. But the important fact, from Richard's perspective, was that Kate and Jack were over. Her relationship with Jack didn't exist any more. It needn't concern him .  
At the time that was how Kate felt too. With the exception of the random thought at the odd moment, when she'd say a short, silent prayer for his safety and his survival, Jack was gone.  
  
Until he'd actually called her, that is, and then all her careful arrangements and sensible conclusions and firm resolutions not to have anything more to do with Jack Bauer no matter how apologetic he was when and if he came back, all of that had gone flying right out the window. In less than five days they were back together and she'd gone away with him for the weekend without a moment's reflection, without packing so much as a toothbrush. He'd won her back in less than ten hours of conversation, total. How could Richard not be shocked when she told him she'd decided she loved Jack Bauer after all, and that she'd realized this less than a week after she'd laid eyes on him again? Richard would think she had lost her mind. And he'd be on the first flight to LA. If she called Richard and he refused to accept what she had to tell him over the phone, he deserved the courtesy of talking to her about it face to face, if that was what he wanted. And what would Jack do?  
  
She watched him, still swimming back and forth, hardly splashing the water as he pulled his arms in and out, doing an effortless flip-turn at each end. Well, if he found out about it ahead of time he could see to it that explosives or drugs were planted in Richard's luggage and that customs was tipped off about it. Or he could add Richard's name to the list of people who were to be denied entry to the country under all circumstances. He might even show up at LAX with a SWAT team and escort Richard to the next plane headed back to London.  
  
But the more likely scenario was that Jack would retreat like the turtle into his shell. His face cold and expressionless as stone he would wish her the best and walk away and go find himself another assignment somewhere and this time he really would get himself killed. Because he would look at all the stability and permanence and material comfort that Richard represented and, knowing he could offer her none of those things, he would just let her go. She couldn't let that happen. She didn't need a husband or any man to support her, for one thing. Jack would just have to trust her, and understand as firmly as she could make him understand that Richard's strengths paled in comparison to his own, at least on the scale of values that Kate considered important. Jack held the last trump card and he didn't even know it.  
  
But it would be nice to live with a man when on most nights you could have a reasonable expectation he would come home at a reasonable hour and in one piece and that he wouldn't disappear without a trace for weeks or months at a time. Apparently those were luxuries she wasn't meant to have.  
  
So there were complications. In the books and the novels and the TV shows figuring out which man you loved was supposed to make everything simple and the best course of action clear. But it wasn't so simple in real life. Jack would disappear again. She wanted a family and he didn't. He was his job and had finally convinced her that he would never leave it. She had begun to hate his job because she'd seen three times now what condition he was in afterwards. Each time when he came back he was more damaged and used up and harder than he was before he left. And that wasn't going to change or get better. In fact it was accelerating and getting worse. That was the other piece she had to work on accepting, the more difficult piece.  
Jack was suddenly there, slipping into the whirlpool next to her.  
"How many did you do?" she asked.  
"A hundred. I used to be able to do twice that many, if I took a half hour break in between. If I tried that today they'd have to fish me out of the bottom of the pool". He looked at her, suddenly concerned. "Is something wrong? I'm sorry, did I take too long?"  
"No, I'm just a little tired. What do you say to a nap? I mean a real nap, as in actually sleeping."  
"I think that's an excellent idea. I can just change the reservation to an hour or so later." And then Kate had an inspiration. "By the way" she asked, as they walked down the hall from the pool to the elevator "what ever happened to all your rock climbing equipment?" "I don't know. I guess its still down in Kim's basement. Why do you ask?' "Well, I'm tired of being cooped up indoors all the time. I'm bored with just taking exercise classes. I was thinking about going to a climbing wall somewhere, seeing if I liked it". Jack considered. "There's a place in West Hollywood I've heard is good. Some of the guys at work were talking about it the other day. We could check it out next weekend, to try it before you lay out any significant amount of money. That's if" he smiled "I'm not busy saving Western Civilization next weekend".  
"Let's hope you're not. I don't want to be stood up on the third date".  
  
On Sunday by the time they got to her car it was the last part of twilight. It took some time to sort his things from her things and then get everything moved over and by then the first stars were out. They were leaning up against her car, facing each other, talking quietly.  
"Thanks for my new Dodgers' cap".  
"Thanks for my beautiful earrings".  
He leaned down to kiss her, lingered there a bit, and then straightened up.  
"You'd better head out" he told her. "You've got further to go than I do and it's getting late".  
"I know. Its just hard to end this weekend".  
"There will be others. Next time, you get to pick. We'll go to Catalina if you want to".  
"Oh, the ballgame was fun. You know I love baseball". It was supposed to be his weekend, so when she saw how he tried to act enthusiastic about her first suggestion for how they were to spend Sunday afternoon, she'd desperately racked her brain for an alternative. Luckily the sports page was lying next to his coffee cup, and she'd been inspired. She knew she'd hit pay dirt because when she asked, oh so casually, if the Dodgers were in town, his eyes had lit up and she suddenly thought that he probably hadn't been to a game all summer. He'd still been in Mexico.  
She put her arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Jack, don't go. Come back with me".  
"You know I can't do that, not yet. Its enough we were together all weekend. That would really be pressing our luck." He bent down to kiss her neck this time.  
"You didn't seem to think about it all weekend".  
"Didn't I? Then I'm a better actor than I thought. Maybe I was distracted a bit, too." He paused, suddenly serious. "Kate, what can I say? I don't know where we're going to end up. I can't promise you anything's going to be any different or any better from what happened the last time. Except that I'll try. I love you. Just take a chance on me again".  
"I think I already have, you know".  
He hugged her and let her go.  
"Call me when you get in. And remember what I said about the garage and the security systems. That's really important, Kate. Don't forget".  
"I won't forget, Jack". She paused. "Don't you forget what you're working on".  
He smiled. "I haven't, and I won't. I'll call you tomorrow, ok?"  
She pulled out and drove off and he climbed into his car. He had just experienced an unbelievable, totally unpredicted, almost miraculous turn of events. He leaned his head forward against the wheel for a moment and closed his eyes and just tried to absorb what had happened with him and Kate this weekend. And it was still unbelievable. Like a dream. He opened his eyes. He was tired and he just wanted to drive back to the place he was staying and go to bed and sleep. But then his mind kicked in.  
  
He would have to call Gerry Travisham at MI6 tomorrow morning. He needed to know what he was up against. A quick glance in Kate's address book had revealed that Dickie's last name was Huntington. While he certainly didn't look forward to it he'd also have to call Bob Warner. Bob's wallet was a bottomless pit and he had a pretty sophisticated corporate security force. It would be the height of stupidity not to call on those resources to provide extra security for Kate. And LAPD. He had to call Mike Calllahan at Third Division and ask him to put Kate's house on the high alert list so a patrol car would circle down her block every other hour, maybe more frequently if he and Mike could come up with something plausible to justify it.  
He was pretty low. He had enough left to get through tonight and tomorrow, but that was it. He was cutting it pretty tight so unless he was able to score someplace else tomorrow he'd have to go back to that bar. And that was a dangerous place for him now, very dangerous. So he had to find someplace new tomorrow, one of the three or four possible places he'd identified courtesy of CTU's link into the LAPD database and his own knowledge of the business. Or he would be forced to start buying it by the hit on a street corner somewhere and that was just as dangerous, in a different way, because who knew what else was in what those guys were selling. And who knew if they'd paid off the narcotics squad this week or if a sweep was in the works. And it took way too much time. He couldn't come up with an excuse to disappear for more than an hour every day; he just didn't have the time. So it was at the top of his agenda for Monday because he'd spent the entire weekend with Kate instead of taking care of business.  
Well, he'd gotten the better part of that bargain, by far. Besides, if he could find an atomic bomb in Los Angeles he was d@mn sure he could find a place to buy a week's worth of smack there too.  
  
Monday  
  
About 11:00 Bob Warner wandered down the hall to his daughter's office. Her door was open and her secretary was away from her desk so he leaned his head in to see if she was busy. She was on the phone, radiant, smiling and laughing, her hair sparkling in the sunlight that flooded her office. He never understood how she could stand all that glare. He caught her eye and she nodded to tell him she'd be off in a second. Then she swiveled her chair toward the window so she could say good-bye privately to whomever she was talking to. Bob studied one of the abstract paintings on her office wall until she was done. Perhaps Richard had already called her from London with the good news.  
"Dad, you didn't have to come down here, I was on my way to see you when I got this call" she said, coming around the desk and kissing him on the cheek.  
"I tried to get you a couple of times over the weekend but all I got was your machine. I guess your cell was off too". They sat at the small coffee table in the far corner of her office, where the view of the city below was the best.  
"I hope you weren't worried. I went away on the spur of the moment and didn't get back last night until it was too late to call".  
"Anyplace fun?" he asked, amusement in his voice.  
"Oh, just to the beach. And I did some shopping".  
"So I see. Those earrings are beautiful. They match your eyes perfectly".  
"Actually, Dad, these were a present". Bob raised his eyebrows, surprised, and Kate's expression grew more serious in response.  
"Kate, its none of my...."  
"Dad, I'd better tell you now because you're going to find out anyway. Jack Bauer is back in Los Angeles".  
The remnants of his smile slowly faded from Bob Warner's face. "How long has he been back?"  
Kate decided to take advantage of this opportunity. "Over three weeks". It wasn't a fib. Jack had been back that long but it neatly covered over the fact that she'd been with him less than a week after they got back in touch with each other.  
"That was him on the phone right now, wasn't it".  
"How did you know?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.  
"Just a guess. How is he?"  
Her face clouded a bit. "Oh, he wasn't hurt this time, or at least it's healed, he's ok physically" she answered, thinking about both what looked like a healed surgical incision on his right midsection and, involuntarily, about how physically "ok" Jack always seemed to her. She blushed for just a moment, then continued "But you know what his job is and there's a price to be paid and he always seems to be the one who ends up paying it. He's got some things to work through. He just needs some time".  
"And so he came wandering back, the wounded stray, and showed up on your doorstep, and you let him back in the house".  
Kate's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't talk about him that way, Dad, like he's some kind of animal. How can you say that about him? You know what he does for you and for your 'assets', for your houses and for your cars and for all of your things. None of us would be here if it weren't for Jack and you know that, or you should know it, better than anybody else".  
Bob sat back, kicking himself mentally for taking that momentary but satisfying jab. It was absolutely the worse thing he could have said to her, guaranteed to drive Kate into a spirited and extremely effective counter attack.  
"I'm sorry honey, it was wrong of me to say that. I apologize". He took her hands in his. "I honor the man for the work he does, for his courage, I sincerely do. I know what men like Bauer have to do and I know I couldn't do it in a million years. But that's not the point, is it. I'm worried about you becoming involved with him again".  
Kate was quiet, so he continued.  
"I remember how hurt you were when he left the last time. When the two of you were going through that ridiculous off-again, on-again breakup that lasted longer than most marriages do these days. You told me it was because you both decided it wasn't working, that you wanted different things and the things you wanted meant he'd have to leave that job, and he wasn't prepared to do that. I know how hard you worked to get over him and to move on and you've done a wonderful job at that. And now he shows up again, and you're ready to go right back to where you were before? Kate, you're not thinking clearly".  
"Dad, we're not back to where we were. He hasn't moved back in, for one thing. It isn't even close to that yet. And, for another, now we've tried being apart, and that's not what we want either. That's a form of progress".  
"But honey, what makes you think anything is going to change? Is he planning on leaving CTU altogether, or getting out of field work?"  
"We haven't discussed it, actually. But no, I don't think he is". Kate looked down for a moment, and then back up at her father.  
"That's just it, Dad. I don't think anything's going to change. I've accepted that the way things are now is just what our lives, his and mine, are going to be. This is it. This is the way we're going to live. He needs me and I have to be with him and when I need him...Dad, you remember how he was once Marie was sentenced. He knows what I need and that's what he gives me".  
"But not children, and not a family and not marriage, and I know how much you want that whole package. And don't tell me you don't want that Kate, because I know you do. At least he's honest enough to tell you he's not the man to do all that again".  
"But what if I were married to someone else? I still don't think... no, its not a matter of thinking, I know it...Jack and I could not stay away from each other. And that wouldn't be right or fair either. So maybe this way isn't perfect but its better than that, and its much more honest, and its better than if we try to stay apart. Because Dad, please just accept this. I am never going to love anyone else as much as I love Jack. And how could I marry someone else as long as I know that's true?" She paused.  
"Of course I'm not thinking clearly. I don't want to think clearly. Do you know what we did this weekend? He took me to see the Dodgers play San Francisco yesterday. The night before that we rode on the bumper cars at the Santa Monica pier. He bought me these beautiful earrings, which probably cost about as much as he makes in a month. On Saturday he went shopping with me for more than four hours without complaining once. We did these simple, ordinary, stupid things other people do without even thinking about it. Jack and I were grateful just to have two normal days together. And we were both so happy, Dad. I know that's an insipid word but I can't come up with a better one. If you could have seen how happy we both were it would be so much easier for you to understand.  
"No, I don't want to think clearly, because then I'll start thinking about what happens when he leaves the next time, and that will spoil what it is we've got right now. I love him and he loves me, and he was right all along, we just have to enjoy what we have while we happen to have it". She took a deep breath and gave him a tight, ironic smile. "Besides, Dad, and thinking clearly for just a moment, what are the odds?" She looked at him directly. "How long has Jack got, anyway?"  
She squeezed his hands and let them go.  
"So please, try not to worry. I know what I'm doing and its what I want to do and its what I have to do. But" she added, trying to change the subject, "that isn't why you called this weekend or why you came down to see me. So what's up?"  
"Oh, it will keep. I just wanted to touch base with you, really. I'd better get back. Marge will be looking for me, she's trying to keep me on some semblance of a schedule today". He stood up. "I can't tell you I'm happy about this, Kate".  
"No, I didn't expect you would be".  
"Understand, its not that I think there's something particularly wrong with him as a person. He's just not the type of man I'm happy to see you with. He's over forty years old and he's still running around in the streets getting shot at".  
Kate decided to let that one go by. "I know Dad. I'm sorry to disappoint you".  
"Oh honey, you could never disappoint me". He kissed her forehead. "I just want to see you settled, not on this rollercoaster all the time".  
"I know. But I'm the only one who can decide if the highs are worth the lows. And I've decided that they are". She kissed his cheek again. "I love you, Dad".  
When he got back to his office Bob stopped by his secretary's desk.  
"Marge, please get Pete Overbaugh on the phone for me".  
"Mr. Overbaugh is on vacation, Mr. Warner. David Kaminsky is filling in as head of security while Mr. Overbaugh's gone".  
"That's fine, get me Kaminsky, then". He turned at his office door. "And get me Jack Bauer's number at CTU".  
"I have it right here. Mr. Bauer called you while you were down the hall."  
Bob Warner stopped shuffling the papers he'd picked up from his 'In' box.  
"Did he? Interesting."  
"Do you want me to place the call?"  
"No, I'll do that. Just the number will be fine, thank you, Marge".  
  
The bar was dark and wood paneled, with pictures of pheasants and hunting dogs and crew teams from the early 1900's, the type of bar where men who'd inherited a lot of money or who had made a lot of money on their own felt comfortable because everything they saw around them told them that they still had all of it and that they were extremely likely to keep it. A bar where men who had real power socialized with each other and figured each other out and made multi-million dollar deals which were couched in very general terms. A container ship of this, three thousand head of that, two hundred railroad cars of this other thing and, since it was Los Angeles, the movie rights to a best seller that would bring in over $100 million at the box office before it opened overseas or the first DVD was burned. Working out the details was left to the lawyers and the accountants and the advertising guys who themselves made over six-figures and who worked for the men who frequented this bar. It was Bob Warner's home turf. Jack was definitely playing an away game.  
He was seated alone at a discrete booth in the back. If anyone he knew saw him the location where Bob was sitting said, "Wave, nod your head to say hi, but don't approach because this isn't somebody I really want to have to introduce you to". There was a thin manila folder on the table. Jack walked over, they shook hands and when a waiter appeared – he was discrete too, moving silently, unobtrusively, deferentially – he ordered a Glenfiddich, straight.  
"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Jack".  
"Bob, its no trouble".  
A pause.  
"I understand from my daughter that you are seeing each other again".  
Jack felt like saying "What, are we pretending we don't know her name? Or do you think I'm signed up for conjugal visits with Marie up at Pemberton?" but he restrained himself. They'd get to the point in the conversation where he'd have to tell old Bob to stick it soon enough, no need to start off that way. So instead he kept his response to a simple "That's right".  
"I have to be honest with you and say I find that disturbing. Very disturbing".  
"Bob, there's only two reasons we're having this conversation. The first is that I have a daughter too, as you know, and I understand your concerns. And the second is that you need to know that Kate's security level needs to be increased".  
There was a pause while they eyed each other.  
"I've already taken steps to do that".  
"Tell your security guy to take it up another notch. If he wants to know the details on what I recommend have him call me. Otherwise, tell him three to five white or Hispanic males. Also, tell him LAPD has already increased their routine patrols by her house".  
"Is this a threat against Kate specifically?"  
"No, I'm the one they want. But if we've been spotted together..."  
"You have the nerve to put her in this situation? What are you thinking? Is she the bait, somehow?"  
Jack looked at him, truly shocked but also very angry. He intentionally lowered his voice a bit. "Bob, you've known me for three years. Do you seriously think I'd do that?" He waited a second or two, enjoying how Warner dropped his eyes. He'd gone a little too far and he knew it.  
"I haven't been to her house and, obviously, I won't go there until this is over" Jack continued. "She hasn't been to my place and we won't go there either. And of course I won't go anywhere near your offices, nor will she go anywhere near CTU. So she's hardly 'the bait', as you put it".  
"You put her in danger just by being around her" Warner sputtered. "Couldn't you have at least waited until this...attack, I guess you call it...had taken place? Couldn't you have put what's best for her first, for a change, instead of what's best for you?"  
Jack was quiet for a moment, his eyes locked on Warner. That one hit home and if Bob wasn't so worked up already he'd know it and press the advantage. But he was too busy being the outraged father to play it correctly.  
"Not that it's any of your business, but there were things Kate and I needed to discuss. That conversation might not be possible afterwards". Warner didn't say anything for a moment; he was absorbing what Bauer had just told him. Jack didn't see why Bob needed time to think about it. He thought he'd been pretty clear. 'Calm down, Bob' he'd said. 'You might just get lucky and this whole issue could go away very quickly'.  
"Was there anything else?" Jack asked innocently.  
"You know Kate had moved on quite successfully after you left.  
('Ah', Jack said to himself, 'So that's the daughter we're talking about here'.) "She went through hell for a time, of course, but she had pulled her life together. She met someone who's serious about her, who wants to marry her. Perhaps she mentioned him to you? Richard Huntington. He's a Brit. Take a look". Bob pushed the folder across the table towards Jack  
"No thanks" Jack said, taking a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit coat and holding it up. "I think I know what that says. Three or four million pounds, a country house in Surrey, (horses, of course; Kate would like that), a townhouse in London, a good private school – Winchester, if I'm not mistaken – one marriage (over), two girls, he got custody so she must have been up to something. The only thing really surprising about the guy is he played rugby. Kind of altered my picture of him".  
"Rather a stark contrast to your situation, wouldn't you say?"  
"Which doesn't matter much unless it matters to Kate. Apparently, it doesn't. Look, Bob, let me save you some trouble". He smiled slightly. "Here's what you're entitled to know, and perhaps a bit more.  
"When Kate wants me gone, I'm gone. I don't want her money. I won't cheat on her. I'll do everything I can to make sure she's safe from the fallout from my job, but as you know and were about to mention to me yourself, that isn't a guarantee of anything. My future prospects are lousy to non-existent. I have no intention of changing my line of work, or of changing jobs.  
"We're not going to get married. You won't have grandchildren who are related to me, which might be a bit of a relief, from your perspective. Short of that I'll do everything, everything, to make her happy. Kate knows all this. We love each other and we're going to be together as long as we can. Now your job is to start getting used to this situation, because there isn't anything you can do about it".  
"Isn't there? Everybody's got skeletons, Jack. An entire house could probably be filled with the ones from your closet. For example, what about all the money Salazar paid you over the last year? What did it amount to, several hundred thousand at least? Did all of that get turned in? Or did you just happen to forget about an account or two in the Caymans or the Bahamas or Switzerland?"  
Jack took a sip of his drink before responding.  
"You see, Bob, you say things like that, you just make more work for everybody. The fact is I never lifted a dime in my life. Every penny, every Goddamned penny those bastards paid me, is now in Uncle Sam's hot little fist. But since you said that, I have to report this conversation. To protect myself, you see. So there's a record that you tried to blackmail a Federal agent which, last time I looked it up, is a felony. So in case one of those accounts suddenly surfaces, it points back to you, the guy who would have opened it, backdated about six months or so, with my name on it.  
  
"And then somebody from the FBI has to come interview you, and that guy has to write up a report about the interview. And of course your lawyer has to be present, and he's got to write up a memo for the file.  
"So, do you see how much work you just made for everybody?"  
"If its not money, there'll be something else" Warner said smoothly. "I'll grant that you don't like boys, or other men, that's pretty obvious. But there's a woman somewhere, or a whole series of women. You weren't working all the time for the last year. I doubt you've been particularly honest with Kate about what you did with your leisure time. Or maybe you took one too many samples of the product line your recent employers were selling. Maybe you got a taste for it. And do you think that Kate understands, I mean, does she really understand, what it is you do on a day- to-day basis? She's got this heroic vision of you, flying off in a plane to save Los Angeles, in particular, and all of southern California, in general, ready to sacrifice your own life in the process. What do you imagine she would think if she had any idea of what this last assignment involved, or if she had any conception of how much blood you have on your hands, some of which is bound to be innocent, given your recent sojourn in Mexico and Columbia, and who knows where else. Because my guess is, you're soaked in it, right up to your elbows.  
"Just so we understand each other, Jack, I think you're the worst thing that ever happened to my daughter, and I'll do everything to keep you away from her. I'd be a pretty poor excuse for a father if I did anything less".  
Jack stood up, pulled some bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table.  
"Funny, I thought the worst thing that happened to Kate was having a sister who wanted to be a mass murderer.  
"Now Bob, you better figure this out, and you'd better figure it out fast" he continued, keeping his voice low and even and serious. "I am dangerous in ways you can't even begin to imagine. Don't try to play dirty with me. I'm much better at it than you'll ever be. I play dirty every day of my life. Play nice. Because if you even try to get between me and Kate, I won't have any incentive to play nice with you."  
He looked at Bob Warner as coldly as he had ever looked at any man he wanted to kill. But he made his voice cheerful and just loud enough to carry over to the two men who were seated three tables over.  
"Nice seeing you again, Bob. We have to do this more often. And let me say I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving. Do you think they'll give Marie a pass for the day?" He stood there for a moment, daring Warner to say anything more just by standing there. Then he turned and walked out of the bar, headed for another one, before Warner could make arrangements to put a tail on him. 


End file.
